


But The Scars Remain

by rosemallows



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Memories, Regret, Time - Freeform, Trauma, Writing Exercise, quickwrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27036541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosemallows/pseuds/rosemallows
Summary: The apocalypse is over, so now what?Five cannot stop that inner desire to plan and calculate and prepare for another apocalypse. He can't stop his mind from pondering about the concept of time everywhere he looks, nor can he stop his past actions from plaguing his thoughts.
Kudos: 6





	But The Scars Remain

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little blurb I felt like writing. I love playing with words, it's very fun.

He is sixteen.

The events of years prior had sometimes left him pondering if he’d even have the capability of continuing forth in the stages of life. But, his fingers brushed his chin, and very faintly were hints of stubble- a clear sign of aging. With this information, one may argue that this ultimately concludes him as the youngest Hargreeve sibling, and with that, any knowledge of the fact that he had once been an elderly man would be thrown out the window- labeled unimportant and a stigma of the past. _The past._

Five’s back leaned against the hardened oak of the sycamore tree. Its shedding leaves flew over the cliff, drifted down onto his short, groomed chestnut hair, and into his lap. This year’s autumn is particularly frigid, perhaps a good sign of the earth being properly taken care of. His fingers fiddled with a brown, dead leaf, crumpling much of its dried contents. Clearly, the autumn leaf was just another victim of life’s infinite cycle- a chess piece of time. Five enclosed his fist around the pieces, squeezing tighter until he had crushed it even more into crunchy smithereens. As he opened his hand, his eyes lingered onto the bits, distant and far. 

Then, he let the withered carcass scatter about on the grass around him; wind blowing the pieces in every which way. He inclined back onto the tree trunk, sighing that signature bitter sigh of annoyance that seemed to follow him wherever he went. His eyebrows furrowed; a sign of his cold calculations- the wheels, gears, and cogs in his brain working full time as they always do- even though the world has shown recently that there isn’t much need for his equation riddled brain. Though Five could not help but consistently _think_ and mouth and conjure up endless explanations, word problems, increasing masses of variables that could potentially help prevent another world plaguing event. His fingers twitched almost mechanically, and lips mumbled incoherently. The appearance of a crumpled leaf had given him this overloading thought, this new variable in his constantly growing equation. No one could stop him, and his brain was frying itself once more as it drank up more juice for a problem that did not exist. He picked harshly at the beds of his fingernails as his thoughts suddenly whirled to any probable suspect that should interrupt his seemingly perfect, not at all chaotic world. _Should I axe them down? Or drown them in their own blood?_ His head snapped upward, eyeballs twitching unkindly. He seethed his teeth, stomach sinking and fists colliding with his brain that had been trained to _kill_ and conjure up numerous techniques for different ways to slaughter, how to have fun with ending the life of victims. His balled hand banged against his skull, ripping out a shriek from his lungs. He could remember the process, the treatment of these assassinations as nothing but simple business. His tongue tasted the blood that would splatter upon his face and dirty his uniforms. His knuckles would be red, red _red- fingernails are crusted with hemoglobin, arms are scratched by the nails of the pleading victims._

His head was ringing in agony, rattling with intensity, but his instincts were overwhelming as they urged him to recall every bit of Commission protocol, recite a pledge, state his badge number- _grab that machete and tear up his intestines._ Beads of water had fallen down the teenager’s face, dripping from his eyes; he was quite desperate for the trained instincts to fade off. He was adamant on remembering who he was, and what he no longer was, what he had never wanted to be in the first place. The boy seethed his teeth, then with force dipped his whole body forward until his frame had warped away in the blink of an eye. 

**Author's Note:**

> I might write a full length one shot out of this in the future just to further explore Five's emotions and place with the pretty traumatic events of, well, murdering (Especially since he was a little kid) and also the immense stress of trying to prevent the world from ending. 
> 
> For now, please enjoy this small idea. Thank you for the kudos and comments!


End file.
